


Put to the Touch

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: A/U, M/M, Math!Geek John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 15:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Evan Lorne becomes seriously ill after activating a piece of Ancient tech, John, Rodney and Beckett have to figure out how to save his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put to the Touch

_  
**Fic: Put to the Touch, Sheppard/Lorne, NC-17**   
_   
_Title: Put to the Touch  
Author: Rubygirl29  
Pairing: Lorne/Sheppard  
Rating: NC-17  
Written for: [](http://slashing-lorne.livejournal.com/profile)[**slashing_lorne**](http://slashing-lorne.livejournal.com/) and [](http://welfycat.livejournal.com/profile)[**welfycat**](http://welfycat.livejournal.com/) who wanted Lorne/Sheppard.  
Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate or the characters other than OCs. I do this for fun, not money.  
Spoilers: "The Rising."  
_

 **Author's Note** : This story takes place in an A/U of my imagination, but Math!Geek John has been around for a while. Lorne is a member of the military expedition to Atlantis and John is a former USAF pilot, permanently disabled in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan. After getting his PhD in mathematics, he is invited to join the expedition and is assigned to Lorne's team.

 **Put To the Touch**

 _Prologue - Bethesda, Maryland, Walter Reed Medical Center_

Major John Sheppard, USAF, looked out the window at the sunny courtyard. Wounded soldiers, some walking, others in wheelchairs, were taking in the spring air. Six months ago, he had been among them. Now, he felt as if he were in no man's land, neither wounded or recovered, with nowhere to go. He turned back to the doctor who was watching him with unwelcome and unwanted sympathy. "You're sure?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Major. There is no way you can return to active duty. The severity of your injuries makes that quite impossible."

"Give me more time," he said. "More therapy. Something!"

"Contrary to popular belief, time does not heal all wounds."

"I have a new hip, a state of the art artificial knee. Hell, I've got so much titanium holding me together that I'm the Six Million Dollar Man -- and the Air Force says I'm still a cripple," he said bitterly. "What was it all for?"

"You still have a leg. You can walk. You still have quality of life. We've done the best we could."

"It's not good enough!" He realized he was shouting and backed off slightly. "I'm a pilot."

"Your family --"

"That's not an option." He had no doubt that his father would find a place for him, safe behind some desk in a corner office, but how fair was that to his brother? David didn't need to be carrying deadwood just because they shared the same blood.

"You have a PhD from Stanford. You could teach, go into the private sector. Surely there must be something else?"

"I'm a pilot. It's all I ever wanted to be. Everything else was just a means to an end. It's all about the flight, the wings."

"Life sucks," the doctor said, and for the first time John had to smile.

"I don't need you to tell me that. Look, doc. You're a surgeon. One of the best in the world. What if you couldn't do that anymore? Would you be content with research? With teaching?" He saw the chagrin on the doctor's face. "I didn't think so. He rose, leaning heavily on his cane. "Thanks, doc. I'll figure it out."

A month later, he was Dr. John Sheppard, PhD in applied theoretical and computational mathematics and teaching algebra and trigonometry at a community college in Colorado Springs. For kicks, he wrote and published a paper on the computational mathematics of wormhole physics in an obscure journal to fill his "publish or perish" requirement. Apparently, nobody had read it.

He was sitting in his office grading papers when there was a knock at his door. A portly man in an Air Force uniform and general's stars stood on his threshold. Out of habit, John rose from his chair and saluted. "Sir?"

The general chuckled. "At ease, son. I am General George Hammond, and I have a proposition for you. How would you like to return to active duty?"

John blinked at him. "Sir ... according to my medical file, which I'm sure you've read, the Air Force doesn't think I'm fit." He gestured to his leg, and to his cane. "As much as I'd like to say I am, I'm not. Really. So unless this is some sort of monumental practical joke--"

"Major, how about a little field trip to Cheyenne Mountain? There's something you ought to see before you talk yourself out of it."

 **Part One**

 _Antarctica_

"You want me to sit where?" Major Evan Lorne looked at Dr. Rodney McKay. "Why?"

"Because your blood test showed that you have the Ancient gene that allows you to operate the technology. Just sit so we can assess the strength. It won't hurt."

"That's what you science guys always say," Lorne grumbled, but he climbed into the chair. "Now what?"

"Put your hands on the control pads and think about where you are in the solar system."

Evan did. The chair lit up and a star map appeared overhead in a holographic display. "Holy crap!" Evan breathed. "Will you look at that?" His eyes flickered, and the display changed, focusing on a climatological map of the Atlantic. "Looks like the Gulf better prepare for a tropical depression." He looked at McKay, who seemed upset.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. No, Major. You did everything right. That's disturbing."

"Why?"

"Your gene is strong. Probably the strongest on the expedition."

Lorne's blue eyes narrowed. "You're jealous."

"Jealous? Don't be ridiculous. I'm just ..."

"You're just jealous, Rodney. Admit it and move on." Dr. Elizabeth Weir, the designated head of the Atlantis expedition held out her hand. "Welcome to the Atlantis expedition, Major Lorne. Colonel Sumner wanted me to introduce you to your team."

"My team?" This was news to Evan. "I'm leading an SG team?"

"Yes. With your gate team experience we felt you were eminently qualified -- even more so now that we know you have the ATA gene." She started pacing down the icy corridors with Lorne at her side. "Each team will include military back-up, and a scientist. Of course depending on whether we have the ability to travel isn't known yet. If Atlantis is as large as we anticipate, there should be plenty of opportunities to explore."

"Why the heavy military contingent?"

"The SGC is primarily military and when the budget comes through the Pentagon, we say 'yes.'"

She sounded testy and Lorne decided discreet silence was in order. They went into the conference room where Colonel Sumner, General Jack O'Neill, and Daniel Jackson were waiting. Seated next to O'Neill was a slim man with dark unruly hair, an ironic twist to his mouth, and horn-rimmed glasses that Lorne found disturbingly attractive.

"Major Lorne, this is Dr. John Sheppard. Dr. Sheppard, Major Evan Lorne."

Lorne tensed. Most of the scientists he knew approached the military with either a chip on their shoulder or a stick up their butts. Sheppard just nodded and raised a hand. He didn't look like he was impressed, or antagonistic, or bored. Behind the glasses, he had sharp hazel eyes. He half-rose, held out his hand. His clasp was warm, firm. "Major."

Lorne sat down and the meeting began. His military contingent would be led by a Marine, Sergeant Robert Stackhouse. O'Neill gave him a glance as if he expected Evan to object; Evan was fine with the Marines, fine with Dr. Sheppard. He wasn't a difficult person to get along with and he had been in the military long enough that playing nice with the other big boys didn't bother him. He could make it work.

The meeting was long. Parts of it were boring, and Dr. Sheppard was shifting uncomfortably in his chair. O'Neill looked from Sheppard to Weir, to Evan. "I think we ought to give Major Lorne and Dr. Sheppard some time to go over what they will need to outfit their team. Frankly, I'd like some coffee." He closed his folders. "Dr. Weir, why don't we break for an hour? I'm sure Daniel and Dr. McKay have some thrilling data to analyze before they return to Colorado Springs."

Sheppard rose slowly. Evan realized it wasn't boredom or impatience that made him restless. He was leaning on a cane. He grimaced as he stood and stretched out his leg. Something pinged in Evan's mind. "Sheppard? _Major_ John Sheppard?"

"In another life, yeah."

"You were shot down over A-stan. Captured by the Taliban and rescued by USAF S&R?"

"I don't remember much." A flush had stained his cheeks.

"I was on that mission," Lorne said. "You were in bad shape."

"You found me?"

"I was flying the mission that located your position. As soon as the S&R team was in, I was out of there, but I heard the radio calls."

Sheppard gave him that one-sided smile. "Small world."

"So, how do you go from being Major Sheppard to being Dr. Sheppard, PhD?"

"You finish your dissertation online while you're strung up in traction at Walter Reed."

"Ouch."

"You don't know the half of it." He drew a breath. "I'd just started teaching when General Hammond showed up and ... here I am."

"Major Lorne!" A man in an orange Polar Fleece jacket was heading towards them. Lorne had an absurd impulse to run in the opposite direction but that wouldn't be fair to Sheppard.

McKay skidded a bit on the icy floor. "Major --" he paused, looked at Sheppard. "Does he have clearance?"

"Dr. Mckay, this is Dr. John Sheppard, Phd. And, yes, he has clearance since he's on my gate team."

"PhD?" McKay's eyes brightened. "In what?"

"Applied theoretical mathematics."

"We'll have to talk," Rodney said. "First, come with me."

"Why?"

"The chair."

Sheppard looked slightly alarmed. "Chair?"

"It won't hurt," Lorne said. "It might even be interesting. Have you heard of the ATA gene?"

"Only what I've read on the reports."

They entered the chair room. Sheppard paced around it. "It's very ... Art Deco." He touched it tentatively. "Interesting. What are the chances of me having the same gene as these guys?

"Quite slim, actually," said another man coming over to the chair. He held out his hand. "Dr. Carson Beckett, CMO."

"What do I do?"

"Just sit down and put your hands --" The overhead display came up; a swirl of lights and color.

McKay's jaw dropped. "Oh, my."

"Did I do that?" Sheppard asked.

"Think about where we are in the solar system."

Lorne grinned as the display changed. "Welcome to the club, Dr. Sheppard."

McKay looked beyond annoyed. "Well, now there are three."

"Three?"

"Dr. Beckett, myself, and you. We seem to have the strongest ATA genetic component. There are others, but they have to work on it."

"Cool," Sheppard grinned at Lorne. "So what happens next?"

"Beer." Lorne said.

  
^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Sitting across from Sheppard, Evan had a better chance to study him. Physically, he seemed okay, other than the limp and the cane. He looked pretty fit for a guy who had been deemed incapable of active duty. "How badly do you need those glasses?" he asked, gently curious.

"I'm on the computer so much that they're anti-glare. There's nothing wrong with my sight. 20/10. I took sniper training."

"Shit," Lorne said. "That's heavy duty SF, Sheppard."

He shrugged. "I flew choppers into hostile ground. I had to be able to defend myself, my crew and any troops we were evacuating. I've been handling guns since I was eight. It wasn't such a big deal."

Lorne knew it was. "And the leg?"

"Held together by bailing wire and screws, but it's better than it was. I'm keeping active. Force of habit, I guess. It will never be 100 percent. I couldn't fly with it this way, so I left. I'd rather choose the desk I sit behind."

Sheppard took off his glasses and Lorne looked into those bright, changeable eyes that did funny things to his stomach. He had kept many secrets, but the biggest one was his sexual orientation. Now, meeting Sheppard's eyes was like touching a hot surface. Reflex might warn you off, but you couldn't resist touching it again to make sure it really was as hot as it had seemed.

Did he want this man on his team? Absolutely. Did he want this man in his life? God, yes. That scared him, but he had never backed down from a dare or danger. "So, you want to do this?"

Sheppard slouched in his chair, one brow raised and that damn ironic smile tugging at the corner of his beautiful mouth. "What else is a gimpy thrill-seeking former chopper pilot and mathematical theorist going to do?"

Lorne decided he was royally screwed.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

 _The city had been waiting 10,000 years for their return, for their touch. She had felt a faint shiver of anticipation; not enough to wake her at first, but then **they** had come and she opened to them like a flower._

Lorne wondered if anybody else had noticed, but as soon as John stepped through the gate, the city came to life with lights, sounds, amazing view screens opening like magic. Lorne touched a wall sconce and it came on, he set foot on a step and it glowed. He waved his hand in front of a door and it opened without a sound. Sheppard was having the same effect on the city. It was unsettling and amazing. Lorne watched as John's hand ghosted over a computer display and it was immediately activated. "I didn't do anything," he said. He sat down in a chair and began studying the displays. "I've never seen anything like this. I wonder if ..." A star-shaped schematic came up on the display. "I think that's the city ... and I think that red light is where we are."

Lorne looked over his shoulder, leaning close, almost as aware of John's scent as he was of the latent power beneath his hand. He touched the panel and a secondary level became visible. "It's a big place."

"Nobody does any exploration until we're sure it's safe," Colonel Sumner said. He looked at Lorne. "That includes you."

"Yes, sir."

"Just because you have the gene doesn't make you invulnerable, Major. Remember that."

"Yes, sir." He caught John laughing silently behind his hand, and they grinned at each other like two boys reprimanded for bad behavior. "I don't think he likes us," he whispered to John.

"I know he doesn't like me," John says. "He flat out told me so before we came through the gate. _You are not here by my choice._ Apparently, I'm not his idea of a yes man."

"He's not your CO. You take your orders from Dr. Weir."

"Thank God for that." They both looked up as Rodney McKay's voice came over the intercom. "We've found something you ought to see."

Then all went to Hell in a hand-basket ...

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Evan found John and Dr. Weir in a face-off on the balcony. Two red spots of fury highlighted Sheppard's cheekbones and Weir's mouth was drawn hard. She walked out, brushing past Lorne. "Talk to him," she said.

"Am I wrong?" John asked after the door had closed. "You know we don't leave our people in the hands of the enemy. You _know_ what the cost of that is. It's not just our people, Evan. It's the Athosians -- Teyla and Halling, and the others who welcomed us. Some gift we brought to them."

"I wasn't there." It still rankled that Sumner had ordered him to stay on Atlantis and had personally taken charge of the recon team. The logic was that if anything happened to Sumner, Lorne would inherit the command. If anything happened to Sheppard, he was next in line for operating any tech that required the ATA gene. "If it helps, I know what you're saying. We can't lose Sumner, Stackhouse and those Marines. They're all we have for protection against the Wraith or any other enemies we come up against."

"Sumner should have known they weren't strolling into the Garden of Eden."

"Even that had a snake," Lorne said. "We'll work something out, but Weir is right. We can't risk more lives without a plan ... a good one that will give us a tactical advantage."

They went back into the control room where Rodney McKay approached them. "Major, I think there's something you might be interested in seeing."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Beyond the adrenaline rush of the rescue, the greatest thrill was the simple ability to fly again. The Jumpers didn't care that a man had a bad leg, what mattered was the quickness of his mind, the seamless interface with Ancient technology, the ability to make the mental leaps to direct the Jumper. To be able to do that was exhilarating. Sheppard and Lorne, both trained pilots with the gene did it better than anybody else.

Still, and for the rest of his life, John would remember the last look in Colonel Sumner's eyes as he begged for release from the Wraith Queen. He was a trained sniper, he pulled the trigger, knowing he wouldn't miss, that Sumner's heart would be destroyed by his bullet. It didn't lessen his guilt.

Safely back on Atlantis, John sought out a lonely place and found one in a shadowed recess off the East pier. The stones were still damp and there would be hell to pay on his damaged leg, but he was alone, which was what he wanted. He also wanted a drink, a drug, anything to dull his senses, rubbed raw by blame and unmitigated by the knowledge that Sumner would have done the same for him had their positions been reversed.

He sighed, rested his head on his bent knee. The shadows hid him as the sun began setting. The last thing he expected was to hear the steady pace of boots on the stones. _Crap,_ He was in no mood to be sociable.

"Hey."

Lorne. It could be worse. He sighed, looked up. "How did you find me?"

"The city sensors picked up on your subcutaneous transmitter."

"Great. No privacy."

"Do you really want to be alone?"

Did he? "No."

Lorne eased his compact body down next to John's. He moved like every muscle in his body ached. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes. John gave him a bit of a sidelong look. "Are you okay?"

"Tired. I don't know ... Rough day. Rough way to start a mission, losing Colonel Sumner."

"We didn't lose him. I killed him," John couldn't keep the rough edge out of his voice. "It was my bullet."

"It was the right thing to do," Evan argued. "I would have done the same thing if I had been the one looking through that scope. Don't beat yourself up."

"I guess I'm not as out of the military as I thought I was," John said. "It all came back. The good and the bad." He shivered and felt Lorne's shoulder warm against his. It felt good to have another body close to him. Lorne was solid. In every way. John didn't need to look at him. He knew him. Knew the hard, conditioned body, the dark blue eyes, the sweep of long lashes that on a softer face would have been effeminate, the dimples that danced at corner of his mouth when he smiled. John gave himself a mental slap upside the head. Thinking about Lorne like that was dangerous.

As if he could read John's mind, Evan rested a hand on his knee for balance as he stood up. He reached down to John. "These stones can't be good for your leg," he said. "Dr. Weir has a bit of a meet and greet planned for the expedition members and the Athosians, who are bringing ale, by the way."

"Ale, as in beer?" He looked up at Lorne."Sounds like a plan." Evan pulled him up, his strength balancing John's height and weight. John took the weight on his bad leg. "Ouch!" He looked around for his cane. It wasn't there. Memory rushed in. It was back in the Wraith lab.

"Lean on me," Lorne said. "I've got you."

With Lorne's arm around his waist, strong, solid and comforting, they walked back to the city.

 **Part Two**

Six weeks later, Lorne started getting migraines. The first one was annoying, requiring nothing more than an over-the-counter medication and a good night's rest. He didn't even mention it, figuring it was due to stress and exhaustion. He'd had a few migraines in the past.

Two days later, he and John were on a recon mission on the mainland. It was a hot day, and they were scanning the ruins of a village culled by the Wraith. The light struck Lorne's eyes and he felt faintly nauseous. He leaned against a tree, "Hold up, John."

"What?" Sheppard looked up from his scanner and peered at him. "You don't look so hot. Are sick?" He put a hand on Lorne's forehead. "You don't have a fever."

Evan wanted to hold John's hand there. His palm was cool, his eyes concerned. "I'm not sick. I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Do you have meds with you?"

"No. Just ibuprofen back in the First Aid kit on the jumper."

"It's going to get pretty bad, right?"

"Bad enough."

John took his arm. "We'll be back on Atlantis in an hour."

It was a very long hour. By the time he was in the infirmary he was ready to beg John to shoot him to put him out of his misery. Instead, he was hooked up to a lidocaine drip and fell asleep. When he woke, Sheppard was at his side, asleep in his chair, his bad leg resting on s small rolling stool. His horn-rimmed glasses had slid slightly down his nose and his hair was even more rumpled than usual. His hand was on the bed next to Lorne's, two fingers resting lightly on his wrist. Evan didn't know if it had anything to do with their shared ancestral DNA or just plain human chemistry, but he felt the touch acutely.

John stirred in his chair, yawned and opened sleepy eyes. He smiled when he saw that Evan was awake. If he was aware of his hand on Evan's, he wasn't in a hurry to move it. "Feeling better?"

"Not really. I mean I feel crappy. Like I've been whacked on the head with a rock. On the upside, at least my eyes are focusing now."

"Shouldn't the pain be gone? I mean I'm no expert on migraines, but --" He was interrupted by Dr. Beckett sliding the curtain aside. "Hey, doc." He slid his hand off Evan's. If Beckett had noticed, he wasn't letting on -- or if he had, he didn't care.

"How's the patient?" He took Lorne's pulse. "I'm sorry, lad. I'll have to shine a light in your eyes." He did it quickly, but Evan recoiled. "Still sensitive?"

"A little. Can I get out of here, doc?"

"Not yet. I need to run some scans to be sure that it was just a migraine."

"What else could it be?"

"Believe me, Major. Just a migraine would be a good thing."

"Crap," John spoke. "Run the scans and stop speculating."

"I'm fine," Evan insisted as they wheeled him away. "Bring me food," he called back to John.

"Blue Jello and mystery meatloaf," John called back. Evan flipped him off as the gurney rounded the corner.

When he got back from the tests, there was John with blue jello, chocolate pudding and Salisbury steak with tater tots. He smiled, still looking wan. "I didn't know you cared," he said to John, who had been watching him with slightly narrowed eyes.

"I care." Casual, but with softness to his voice that brought color to Lorne's cheeks. He opened up the pudding and offered it to Evan. "It's good. You want some? Better than blue jello."

Lorne smiled and shook his head. "Chocolate gives me migraines."

"Sorry." John took the fork and scooped some up. "Sweet."

A small smudge of chocolate lingered on his lip, and Lorne reached up and wiped it off with his thumb, thinking it would taste even sweeter on his tongue. John's eyes widened.

"Sorry. Blame it on the drugs." Before John could respond, Beckett returned with Lorne's chart in his hands. He looked worried. "Don't look at me like that, doc. What's wrong? Have I got a tumor or something?"

"No, not a tumor." He pulled the stool up to the bedside. "You have to remember we still don't know how the ATA gene works, how the city seems to _know_ when somebody with the gene activates something. It's complicated."

"What does that have to do with the headaches?"

"The closest comparison is to think of it like an allergy."

"Wait. I'm _allergic_ to Atlantis? Come on, doc, that's a little weird even for this place."

Carson sighed. "Dr. Sheppard was the first gene carrier through the gate, no? The city imprinted on him, on his gene. The technology seems to be fighting against other initiators; it sees them as ... a histamine, and attacks them."

"Why aren't you affected, or any of the other carriers? Why me?"

"Because you are the strongest carrier after Dr. Sheppard."

"So I need an antihistamine?"

"So to speak. But, lad, your reaction is getting stronger. If it continues to worsen ..."

Sheppard leaned forward. "There has to be something we can do. Some way to build up Lorne's tolerance ... like people get allergy shots."

"I dinna think it will be so easy, lad. I'll have to run some more tests, but I honestly don't know."

"Can I get out of here?" Evan asked. "I'm not sick. I'll be careful about Ancient tech."

Carson sighed. "You shouldn't be flying jumpers or testing any devices. When did this start?"

Lorne looked abashed. "About two weeks ago. I've been taking OTC meds." He looked away from Carson's "medical" frown. "I won't do it again."

Carson sighed. "I have no reason to keep you here as long as you follow my instructions. If you get another headache, come to see me. Don't diagnose yourself."

"Yes, sir."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and John stepped outside. Somehow, seeing Lorne half-dressed wasn't such a good idea. He wondered about the feint and parry of their relationship. Did Evan feel the same pull he did? Did he feel the need to touch, to be near him? John didn't know. He might never know. That left a hollow feeling below his breastbone.

"Ready?" Lorne came out, rumpled and looking thinner than he did when he was wearing in his tac vest and jacket. There were still lines of pain bracketing his mouth.

"Back to your quarters?"

"Yeah." He leaned against the wall.

John frowned at him, not liking how washed out Lorne looked. "I'll walk you there." He draped a casual arm over Lorne's shoulder; just one buddy lending help to another. The corridors were quiet. John was aware of the hum of the city, a perfect harmonic for him that could kill Evan Lorne.

Lorne's steps were beginning to lag by the time they reached his quarters. John turned, put his hands on Lorne's shoulders. "We'll figure this out. McKay, Beckett ... they're the best."

"You're not exactly out of your element, either."

John smiled. "Well, I'm not one to brag, but yeah. I'm okay ... and I'm motivated."

"Motivated?"

John took in a deep breath. Lorne's blue eyes were locked on his, and one of his hands rested on John's hip. They were perfectly alone. John leaned in slightly. "Evan, unless you're certain that this isn't another weird reaction to the gene thing, this is a really bad idea."

"It's not the gene." Lorne pulled him closer, gave him a hard, quick kiss; soft lips, rough stubble, a tug of John's lower lip with gentle teeth as they parted.

John knew he was grinning stupidly and probably blushing. "I guess not." He took a breath and stepped away. "It's still a bad idea right now. On the bright side ... now I am _extremely_ motivated." He opened the door with a wave of his hand.

Evan blinked at him. "Are you coming in?"

"I have to ask some questions and you need to get off your feet." He bent closer. "This is not a booty call."

"Well. Damn." Lorne mustered a grin. "Come on in, then."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Evan's quarters were habitually neat. Years of being in the military had left their mark; books were neatly shelved, computer equipment as well tended as his firearms, clothing folded on shelves or hanging on a rod he had rigged up. The few photographs were of his sister and her family, and one painting of the Golden Gate bridge rising like the skeleton of a giant sea creature from the fog-shrouded bay. John leaned close.

"Yours?"

"Yeah," he answered diffidently. "It's old. I haven't had much time to paint lately."

"Ya think?" John grinned. He flopped down on a chair; all long legs and lean relaxed body. "I thought we'd go through any recent tech you've been in contact with. Sit down before you fall over. You want some water?"

"I'm good. Get some for yourself, if you'd like." Evan sank down on the bed. He stuffed a pillow behind his back and stretched out, mentally cataloging all the ancient tech he'd handled recently. "I can't think of anything you haven't handled, too. Wait ... There was something. McKay needed somebody to activate this device he found in one of the labs."

"What kind of device?"

"I don't know. He said it was some sort of computer interface."

"What happened?"

"I touched it, a screen came up with a lot of code. McKay muttered something about it being useless, then apologized for wasting my time. That was it."

"Did he deactivate it?"

"How the hell should I know? I was called to the jumper bay STAT, so I took off. Tell me it isn't that?"

"I'll have to talk to McKay. Meanwhile, stick to earth-based tech."

"Yes, sir." The words were out before he could bite them back.

John looked stricken. The reminder that he wasn't a soldier, and would never be one again, was like a punch to the solar plexus. He held up a hand as if warding off a blow. "Don't. Just don't -- "

"God, John, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Sheppard sighed. "It sucks, that's all. But, hey. At least I'm back in the air, so ..." He shrugged. "I never was much good at following orders." He straightened out of his slouch and pushed himself upright. "Okay. Off to rile up McKay."

"You can rile me up anytime," Evan teased hopefully, and was rewarded with a grin that wiped away John's tension.

"I'll bet I can," John replied. He didn't kiss Evan again, but he ruffled up his short hair affectionately. "Take it easy."

When the door closed, Evan pulled the pillow down, punched a hollow into it and went to sleep.

 **Part Two**

In truth, the last thing John wanted to do was rile up Rodney McKay. The man was sarcastic, occasionally brutal in his criticism, obsessive and brilliant. There were times when John liked him, times when he was amazed at the leaps McKay's mind made; but right now, he wanted to find out what piece of tech he had exposed Lorne to so carelessly. Vinegar and honey came to mind.

He found McKay in his lab, tapping away at a computer and muttering. He looked up when John came in. "Just the man I wanted to see. Take a look at this code, will you?"

"No."

"What?"

"I want to know what kind of device you needed Lorne to initialize. Why didn't you call me?"

"You were flying that resupply mission with Teyla. Lorne volunteered."

"You could have blown up the city!"

"Hardly. The device had virtually no power output. As it turned out, it was probably damaged at some point over the last ten thousand years. The display came up, but it was so garbled that neither Zelenka nor I could make sense of it."

"Can I see it?" John's jaw was starting to ache.

"Sure. It's down two levels." He activated a map on his display. "Here."

"You're coming with me," John said.

"Wh--" McKay must have seen murder in John's eyes. "Fine. Why not? If the ZPM overloads while I'm gone --"

"We'll all die .... I've heard that one, remember? Come on."

The corridor was dim, but as John passed, the sconces came on. John looked up at the walls. He touched the uneven surface. It felt like scar tissue. "This area must have been damaged in the past."

"Yes, I believe I mentioned that." McKay stopped in front of a door. "Dr. Sheppard, you have the honors."

John waved his hand and the door opened. The lights came up. In the center of the room was a pedestal. Right above it was a transparent display. It looked powerless. Harmless. He paced around the pedestal and the touchpad display etched with symbols in Ancient; some were familiar, others completely foreign. John was baffled. "This is it?"

"Yes. Major Lorne put his hand there, in that depression."

John held out his hand, hesitated. "You know if I start getting headaches or turn into a bug or something, Dr. Weir won't be happy." He put his hand in the depression and the machine hummed to life beneath his touch. The display came up. Blues, greens, pale gold. "Nice." It was nice. Even poison could taste good.

"Interesting. It didn't look like that for Lorne. His was red, black, white, gray. But the script was the same. It's fractured, distorted. It makes no sense."

John studied it. There were patterns there. "Some of it is Ancient," John said. "Some of it looks like the displays on the Wraith ship, and some of it ... looks familiar." He frowned. "Can we filter out some of the extraneous code?"

"Hardly."

Experimentally, John touched a pad that was etched with an Ancient symbol. Some of the display cleared. John tilted his head and thought. "DNA."

"What?"

"DNA. Watson/Crick. The spiral." He tapped his radio. "Dr. Beckett, Dr. McKay and I are in a lab on the lower level. You should be able to locate us. Could you please come down here?"

Beckett arrived quickly. "What is it?"

John gestured to the device. "Dr. McKay asked Major Lorne to initialize this device. I think it's why he's getting migraines." He touched the display and it instantly lit up. "What does that look like to you?"

Beckett sighed. "Gibberish."

John touched the filter pad. "Now?"

Beckett looked. His blue eyes widened."DNA. The ATA gene. Do you know what this means?"

"Right now, I want to know what it has to do with Lorne."

He released the filter and the code filled in. "Ancient DNA, Wraith DNA, and something else. What is it?"

Beckett was silent. "My God. It is an engineered break in the DNA molecule. It affects the polymerase -- the polymerase "reads" an intact DNA strand as a template and uses it to synthesize the new strand. This alters that. It causes a mutation of the DNA -- "

"The Ancients were experimenting with genetics to eradicate the Wraith?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps they were trying to alter their own DNA to make themselves less palatable as a food source. Whatever it was, it's capable of great harm."

John felt sick. "Was Lorne's DNA affected?"

"When I examined him, I wasna looking for genetic mutations. I'll have to do more tests to see exactly what this device does, and even if I knew where to start, it could take weeks--" His pager went off. He looked at it. "I have to get back to the infirmary. Major Lorne has collapsed."

 _Crap!_ John's heart stuttered in his chest. "Go!" He hurried off after Beckett, limping, and for once, not caring.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Lorne woke hooked up to monitors and IVs. His head hurt, but not with the same ferocity as earlier, when he had radioed for help. His mouth felt like cotton and he seemed to be seeing through distorted glass. He knew those sensations. Pain meds did that to him. As much as he hated the feeling, he hated the wrenching pain in his skull more. Three more IV bags were piggybacked to a port in his other arm.

Nurse Cho was standing by a cardiac monitor. Not good, he thought. "Hey, what's all this for?"

She turned to him with a "professional" smile. "Just hydration and a mild sedative."

 _Right._ "I don't suppose Doc Beckett is around?"

"He'll be back soon. Are you uncomfortable?"

"I'm fine. How about Dr. Sheppard?"

"I haven't seen him."

"McKay?"

"Major," she sighed. "I don't know. Dr. Cole admitted you. Dr. Beckett has been paged--"

The curtain swept aside and Carson came through as if he expected to find him on life support instead of lying there, awake and alert. "Thank God," he breathed. "You gave us quite a scare, Major."

John came in, limping and pale. "What's up?" He was lousy at hiding his concern, which made Lorne feel all flushed and not a little flustered. He endured Beckett's examination, answered too many questions that he had already answered for Dr. Cole, and tried not to watch as Cho drew _more_ blood.

"I'm fine. Just another headache."

"You passed out," John said. "You're not fine."

It wasn't like he could argue with that. He pleated the blankets in his fingers. "So, what's going on?" He might have been asking Beckett, but his eyes were locked on John's.

"That device you activated was engineered to alter DNA. The program had components of Wraith and human genetic codes. We don't know if that is the source of the headaches. We don't know if this is as far as the mutations go, or if it was meant to affect the Wraith code or to make the Ancients less 'tasty' to them."

"So the best case scenario is that I'm not going to get fed on by the Wraith. The worst is ...?"

"It could kill you," Beckett broke in, but gently. "Your vital signs were quite erratic when you came in, Major. Blood pressure, heat rate, and respiration were all over the charts, son."

He couldn't help but notice his hands were shaking.

"Doc, can I have a moment?" John asked, and Beckett, bless his heart, backed out of the cubicle. He pulled a stool next to Evan's bedside and took his hand. "We're working on it."

"I never thought I'd die like this."

"You are _not_ going to die. I just told you we're working on it."

"Whatever ... it sucks." He looked at their twined fingers. "No regrets but this ... not knowing you better."

"I know. You're not dead, so don't give up." John lifted their fingers, brushed his lips lightly over them, then leaned in and kissed Lorne. "Don't. Give. Up." Punctuated by kisses, and Lorne swore he'd never give up, not if this was waiting for him. This was all overwhelming. The drugs took over and carried him away with his cold hand held between John's warm ones.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

John left Beckett in the infirmary and went down to the Ancient lab. He touched the device and it came to life as it had before. He sat cross-legged on the floor and studied the display; his mind filtering out the extraneous information. It was a computer. It had to be programmed. It had biometric sensors that required activation. Something, or somebody, had used their genetic code for that, then it had been manipulated. Like a corrupted file. It was a computer. It could be wiped, reset. Rebooted.

John hit his radio. "Rodney, come down to the lab." He tried to keep his voice even, his thoughts clear. "Dr. Beckett, come to the lab. Bring a sample of Lorne's blood, and something to draw mine."

In the end, it wasn't so simple, but McKay and Zelenka figured it out while John worked on the mathematics and code. He kept hearing the clock ticking away in his mind, expecting to be paged from the infirmary with dire news about Lorne, kept wondering if what he was doing was right, or if it would literally blow up in his face. Finally, McKay pulled all the crystals, returned then to their proper configuration. He found two small internal sensor pads. "I think this is where we put the samples." He studied the crystals. "I think." He looked at John.

"Do it."

Beckett placed several drops of John's blood on one pad and repeated the process with Lorne's. McKay closed the tray. The keypad lit up and John placed his hand in the depression. The display lit up in harmonious shades of blue, green and gold.

"At least we didn't break it," he breathed.

"The Wraith DNA is gone," Beckett said. "What happens next?"

"We get Lorne down here and see what happens --" The intercom came on. Cho's voice was shaking, edged with panic. "Doctor, Major Lorne is crashing!"

"Bag him and get him down here, Cho."

John had gone pale. "Hurry!"

It was only minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Lorne, perfectly still, and being manually bagged, was rushed in on a gurney, IVs dangling, a portable defibrillator on his chest. "Get that gurney over here. We need to get his hand here." John wanted to pick him up, carry him, but knew his leg would never hold up.

An orderly did it for him, carrying Lorne's limp body up to the pedestal. John grabbed his hand, pressed it into the hollow. The display wavered, changed. The colors were the same as John's, but so dim, as fading as Lorne's life was. Desperate, John placed his hand next to Lorne's, their hands touching. The display flared to brilliant light. John felt the thrum of life beneath his palm. Lorne shivered, gasped, and began breathing. John fell to his knees, shaking with relief, and not believing that he had averted disaster.

After a stunned moment and a hasty examination, Beckett ordered Lorne to be taken back to the infirmary for a complete physical evaluation and hurried off with his team. Rodney was gaping at John, at the display. "What just happened?" he asked.

"I think we just saved a life."

"But how? How did you know?"

"I didn't." Somehow, though, he had known this was right. It was as if the city had told him what he needed to do. He was pretty sure Rodney would write this up as insanity, so he didn't say anything. Whatever had happened, it had worked. Did anything else matter?

"Huh. I think we definitely need to study this ..."

"I think we need to pull the crystals and seal up this room. I don't care if I ever see it again." John turned away. "Do it, Dr. McKay."

McKay would have argued, but something in Sheppard's voice, some vestige of command, made him do what Sheppard had asked. He could always unseal the lab later -- in a year or two -- or three. It wasn't like there weren't other marvels in the city to keep his team busy in the meantime.

 **Part Three**

 _Three Days Later_

"Come on, doc. I feel fine. No headaches, no twinges. I'm good." Evan was doing his damnedest to get out of the infirmary before he went insane with boredom. For two days he had been deprived of company, of entertainment, of halfway decent food. He was beginning to feel like a lab rat in sensory deprivation. "I'm _fine!_. Really."

Beckett frowned at his exasperating patient. "Son, two days ago you were technically dead. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means that I survived and I'm fine."

Beckett thought all military men were the same. Big damn heroes who wouldn't admit to more than a splinter. Fortunately, just then the nurse came in with his latest test results and handed the tablet to Beckett.

"Well?" Evan asked.

Beckett sighed, long-suffering and weary. "Everything is in the normal ranges. Blood counts are good, neurological tests were negative, cardiac and brain scans -- normal again." He came to the bedside and took out his opthalmoscope. "Look up. Look down. Look into the light ..."

"Are you deliberately _trying_ to find something wrong?" Evan asked suspiciously.

"Aye. Because that's what doctors do." He turned off the light and listened to Evan's heart. Took his pulse and BP once again. "However, keeping you here isn't doing either one of us any good."

Happiness lit Evan's eyes. "So I'm discharged?"

"Yes, but off active duty for a few more days, just to be sure that you're going to be all right."

"I can live with that." His eyes went to his uniform draped over the back of a chair. "You knew you were going to discharge me," he accused.

"No ... but Dr. Sheppard apparently did." He gave Evan a rueful look. "I want you back here if you have the least bit of dizziness or symptoms of a migraine."

"I _do_ get them occasionally," Lorne said. "It's on my medical record."

"I doubt the symptoms include cardiac arrest, Major. Just come down and get checked out." Beckett raised his brows. "Or stay here for another week or so ..."

Lorne surrendered. "I promise, doc." Beckett gave him an avuncular pat on the shoulder and left. Evan dressed in his fatigues. His first priority was fresh air. His second was to find John Sheppard.

It turned out to be the same thing. The stones on the East pier had been warmed by the sun and Sheppard was stretched out on them, soaking up the heat. His long, lean body was relaxed, one knee slightly crooked, one arm cushioning his head. Evan stood, slightly blocking the sun, and John opened his eyes, squinting a bit in the brightness. "Hey, look who's back in the land of the living!" He held out his hand.

Evan took it, but instead of pulling Sheppard up, he sat next to him. "Thank you."

John shrugged. "All I did was reprogram --"

"Stop it. You saved my life."

John grinned. "I guess I did. McKay and Zelenka helped."

"I ran into McKay on the way here. He looked at me like I'm a particularly puzzling piece of tech."

"To him, you probably are. You know he's kinda jealous of anybody with the gene."

"I noticed."

John stretched his ribcage. "The sun feels great,"

Evan couldn't resist Sheppard lazing like a cat in the sun. He lay down, felt the heat of the stones against his back, the light dancing off the waters making patterns on his eyelids, and then a different warmth. John's lips ghosting across his. "Don't," he whispered. "Not here."

John moved away. "There's nobody out here."

"Is there anyplace on Atlantis where we can't be found?" Lorne asked wryly.

"Actually, there is." John coiled his body and rose, pulling Evan up with him. "There are areas where the sensors don't work. I guess even then Ancients wanted privacy now and then. Come on."

It wasn't far, and the sun was low enough to filter into the shadowed alcove between two tall stone breakwalls. God bless the 'Lanteans, Lorne thought as John drew him into the alcove. They came together easily, John's taller frame and Evan's muscular body seemed to have been molded to fit together comfortably. John's hands were warm, spanning his back, and he tasted slightly sweet and salty. His mouth ... _God, he had a gorgeous mouth_. Lorne had fantasized about that mouth. Reality surpassed his imagination.

He rucked up John's t-shirt. The crisp hair brushed his palms and the nubs of Sheppard's nipples hardened at his touch. Evan bent his head and tongued them, loving the sounds John made and the way his flesh quivered under his hands. He knelt, opened the fly of Sheppard's fatigues and grinned. "Going commando?"

"I was in a hurry," Sheppard gasped. His hands roamed through Lorne's hair, teased the short ends at his nape. When Lorne lapped at the head of his cock, he shuddered. "Do it," he said.

Lorne looked up. John's face was flushed, his eyes dark with arousal; no doubt just need. Evan took John deep in his throat. When he came, quivering and thrusting into Evan's mouth, it was with a cry of completion, of surrender. His bad knee collapsed and Evan eased him to the warm stones, whispering, "Easy, I have you. You're okay."

John's breath came quickly. "Just okay?"

"Better than okay?"

"Way better." He opened sex-blurred eyes. "Lie down."

Evan did, and John stripped off his t-shirt, slid his trousers and boxers down and stroked warm palms over his ribs, his waist, his groin. The stones were hot on his back and buttocks. The sun touched his cheeks, his chest, his body with light and heat. John was looking at him like he was the best gift in the world, but there was ferocity there, too. The warrior that he kept tethered was slipping its bonds.

He kissed his way from Evan's clavicle to his cock. His stubble brushed against Lorne's shaft. He tasted Evan's come, then kissed him, mingling their tastes on his tongue. He was hard again, and his cock rubbed Evan's, smearing semen between them. He pressed in and Evan arched up, seeking full contact.

His world was John's body, his breath, his voice, his mouth nipping at the tender skin of Lorne's throat, his earlobes. Arousal coiled hard and fast. He rocked into the hollow of John's groin, John pressed into him, and he ejaculated spurting semen between them. This, just _this_.was what had brought him back from death: the knowledge that they were meant to be from the first. Friendship was good, but there had always been more.

As the sun sank lower and the evening chill began to seep into their hiding place, they moved reluctantly and ordered their clothes. Lorne tugged John close, kissed him again. "That's good medicine."

John grinned. "I'm a PhD, not an MD."

"Whatever. It works." He backed away, stretched. "You know what I want?"

"Already?"

Lorne laughed. It had been days since he had felt this way. "That, too. But, no. Blue Jello."

"I think I should take you back to the infirmary. You're a sick man."

"Seriously, they kept giving me lime or cherry. I hate both of those. Blue is a novelty."

"We're going to have to do something about that fixation. How do you feel about chocolate?"

"Can't eat it. Migraines, remember?"

"Maybe I could reprogram that device ..."

Lorne bumped his hip playfully against John's. "Can we just not go there ... ever?"

A breeze came in off the water, and Evan breathed in deeply. Atlantis, a world he had never dreamed existed, was feeling like home. He could feel the city harmonies soothing him. John's fingers linked with his, and the city hummed in contentment as they touched.

 **The End**


End file.
